WHISPERS OF MY UTOPIA: I'M FASCINATED BY PEOPLE AND THEIR BEHAVIOURS

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Monthly Archives: October 2015

I wrote this article with a very heavy heart. Saddened and shocked by this rare piece of two legged animal disguising as a male human being. So, last week we were treated with a gruesome news item of a battered woman one Ruth Gakii formerly married to a UNEP working guy, Alphonse Kambu. I watched that story unravel on my TV and felt defeated. I have never been more ashamed, for being a man. Dear readers, allow me to vent my anger in this week’s article as I try to make sense of what drives a man like Alphonse to wake up every morning and report to work with a happy face. I’m eager to decipher how he sleeps free of nightmares in the dead of a night if his actions are anything to go by.

When he dons his sleek suits and powers his car to life, driving all the way to his beautiful office in Gigiri (I imagine every office located in Gigiri is beautiful), what goes through his head? Are there infighting camps in his mind pulling in different directions every day of his life, thereby paralyzing his rationality? What is his life like; is he sensitive to pain or does it work in contradiction as far as he is concerned? Can the world afford to have such a cold, uncouth and brutal man alive today? I sympathise with Ruth Gakii and her family for the emotional and physical pain they were exposed to, since Alphonse the dare devil came to their lives. You would be forgiven to imagine guys working in blue chip companies and multi nationals are the last that should be expected to be struggling with such serious personality disorders.

The fact that this dude has for years battled and battered this woman in order to gain custody of their only kid is the most unfortunate of sad news. The guy whom I understand ironically works as a legal officer in the Division of Environmental Law and Conventions – UNEP has for far too long bragged about how untouchable he is. This kind of impunity should never have been tolerated in the first place. UNEP is an organisation of no mean repute hence it should have known better and raised eyebrows first and dealt with this guy firmly and decisively instead of turning a blind eye and purporting to be concerned when the issue is no longer in their hands. Borrowing from good practice models, ideally, serious background checks for employees of such organisations should be carried out regularly and thoroughly.

I feel cheated by the so called promise by them (UNEP) to ‘co-operate’ with the investigators. Their issuance of a statement that their organisation does not extend diplomatic immunity to such-like gross violation of basic human rights should be treated with a pinch of salt. Justice delayed is justice denied. As far as the public opinion is concerned, it seems like it is the case. We all watch news and all can attest that this is not the first time we have heard of Ruth Gakii being battered and mishandled by her ex-husband. UNEP cannot admit to be in the habit of knowing its employees better through local media. It’s extremely sad and unfortunate, to say the least.

And who is more daring than this Alphonse Kambu guy who is literally vomiting on our shoes and spiting on our very faces, not once, not twice but many a times. How do you go to a visitor’s house and totally disregard him or her? Is that African! Beating up your ex-wife in front of her mother and your kid! Dude, get a life. Who raised you? Where on earth were you brought up? Did you grow up in a family set up or were you raised in a zoo? Who taught you to trivialize women and all they got? When your family back home asks about the well-being of your family, what do you tell them? Does your conscious disagree with you or have you compromised it along the way with your evil theatrics? Did guilt give up on you? I have not heard more despicable news this year.

Mr. Alphonse, when you take your lovely son back to the mum while drunk, what can be said of you. Extremely ignorant, reckless and sickly! How then do you manage to sit in your office on a Monday morning in that picturesque headquarters in Gigiri with well-manicured lawns, chirping birds, artificial falls and more of a serene environment and deliver on your work? Does the quietness of one of the ‘coolest’ locations to work in Nairobi lull your evil mind to sleep waiting for the next weekend to stir the elusive peace in Ruth Gakii’s world? Or are you a man of different personalities which are unleashed or trashed back to where they belong, depending on where you are and who you are with?

Meanwhile to the people of the little known (at least to me) Papua New Guinea; you owe us an apology. How can you ‘export’ to our great nation a ‘wasted’ man with a rugged personality? A demigod kind of guy who objectifies women and imagines he should be worshiped by all if not his ex-wife. A man who roams with utter arrogance purporting he cannot be apprehended by the police. Surely, Papua New Guinea you could have done better. Kenya is a civilised nation that upholds the dignity of all, including women and so we expect all diplomats to toe the line and respect that, period! Alphonse made me hate his native country and left to imagine he is the best they could offer. Before I cement that thought in my mind I expect sooner than later the government of PNG to furnish us with a sincere apology addressed to Ruth Gakii, her family and the rest of Kenyans.

As if to add salt to an injury, a celebrated local actor Abel Mutua made bad jokes about Ruth Gakii on The Trend Show last Friday trying to justify why at times it’s ‘okay’ to beat up your woman. That was extremely shallow and insensitive. Now, to the many ‘Abel Mutuas’ of this world alluding to why Kenyan ladies shouldn’t get married to foreigners as if to say Kenyan men are wholly gentlemen and all loving; shed off that pedestrian thought. And by the way it’s important for them to say this prayer after me. “Dear Lord, I come before you, requesting you, to tame my slandering tongue, and give me wisdom of being considerate of others and learn how not to hurt them through my mouth. Forgive me my sins, especially my reckless tongue. So help me God. Amen.”

Free advice to you Alphonse; Kids are the most sensitive human beings. They are very vulnerable and have sharp memories too. Don’t ruin your kid’s life for your own aimless selfishness. Your son deserves a peaceful life devoid of an unpredictable dad with unstable emotions. The greatest initiative you can do for his benefit is to keep off from his life. He has made no sin being alive. If you need to sacrifice somebody to satisfy your beliefs, you better sacrifice yourself.

Questions abound, every contemporary man alive ‘struggles’ with a degree of ‘metrosexualness’. The big question is, where do you draw the line between looking sharp and being overzealous. A metrosexual lad is oftenly very in touch with his feminine side. Google defines a metrosexual male as a young, urban man with an interest in fashion and fine taste. Having said that, there is nothing wrong with a bloke looking good and smelling awesome and having tender hands and trimming his nails after 3 days and going for a haircut every five days to conceal the receding hairline and shaving his beards every two days. A man got to invest in himself in 2015. That’s why legion of lads invest time to sigh and sweat at the treadmill to drop body baggage, gain abs and look edgy.

I’m not sure though of a man whose number of shoes occupies more than half the shoe rack way outnumbering that of the wife or them that carry water cans everyday while checking-in to the office. Is it okay, ladies? Somebody advise me if ladies are attracted to such kind of men. You know of guys who worry more about meeting their hair stylists than honouring a client appointment. They will cancel your meeting at the last minute to honour a spa experience. Their favourite hobby is to shop. From jewelry, watches to men’s magazines. That’s their thing. One positive thing about metrosexuals is that they are epic dressers. They understand their bodies and what works for them. They stand out in occasions with their fitting suits or powdered noses if it’s not their illuminating watches or their general flamboyance. Their IG timeline is dotted with pics from the gym showing off their cubes or biceps. They crave for stares in the streets. It works for them.

By the way, all metrosexuals have tried modeling or have rather been made to believe they are the next frontier in modeling. In fact all models are metrosexuals but the reverse is not necessarily true. You will spot them in town, walking noticeably, with their typical beige leather bags hanging in their shapely arms and in trendy pants and shoes better than yours. I know of guys who visit the washrooms every now and then clandestinely not to pee but to adjust their ties or have a look at their teeth. Speaking of teeth, these chaps go for teeth whitening every two years. These are same dudes who carry perfumes in their cars to spray themselves during lunch hour. Interestingly, every time their spouses request them to assist in house chores they worry of their manicured hands. What of guys who visit the salon to be shaped their eyebrows or for a pedicure treatment which they will then suffocate us with endless pics in Instagram! Thank God none of my sisters was married to such dudes. I probably would have compelled them to divorce by now.

Sometimes back I checked to this office somewhere in Adams Arcade for an official engagement with Mr.X. All went well until my nosy eyes landed on a lip balm resting unperturbed at one end of the table. I excused myself to go to the washrooms. That was too much for a 9:00 am meeting. How do you hold a conversation with a bloke who every 30 minutes gets back to dig his lip balm to ‘moisturise’ his lips? I should have borrowed notes from his wife because I knew he was married. Did his father in law just let this pass! Like he turned a blind eye and approved his daughter to be waking up next to a man bothered by his lips which not even a morning peck would dare ‘moisturise’ them. How now!! Mzee, you must be kidding me. Kwani how much was the dowry price? Or were you flattered by the hired helicopters that made your only daughter talk of the village for an entire year. In some cultures this habit can deny you a wife. I don’t want to say it’s gayish. You know the term ‘Gayish’ has been reduced to a dustbin where we dump every ‘unmanly’ trait we don’t agree with. I would rather describe the behaviour as just disturbing. I don’t know about you.

That’s aside. A month ago, my barbershop introduced a new product called ‘Facial Scrubbing’. In fact Shemas, my barber excitedly relayed the news to me imploring on me to try it. I categorically turned down the request. How a man with beards would lay his fingers on my so sensitive face in the name of scrubbing it to make it ‘smoother’ is something I was and will never be ready for. At least not when performed by a man. This is something I have never conveyed to one Kageshi because she would throw tantrums from here to Nineveh City in the Bible. ( A city where God sent Jonah to inform it’s dwellers to repent and turn away from wickedness and violence lest God would destroy the city during judgement). She would go like; “Hiyo ni facial gani ya 1200/- (How can a facial treatment cost 1200/-?) Why are you wasting ‘our’ hard earned money with things I can do in the house?” A man’s hand meandering through my face in the name of making me look ‘flawless’ would literally kill my conscious. And what would I do as he massages my face; Close the eyes and smile to myself as he moves his damn fingers down my chins, to the jaws and crossing over to my forehead occasionally encountering an annoying pimple, as I seat pretty and worry no less about life. This whole thing can’t seat with me. I shudder to imagine such an experience.

The thing is, metrosexual men are the new breed of a contemporary man. They are shedding off the traditional male stereotype, willing to push the envelope further, thinking outside the box and embracing a more sensitive approach to their looks but depicting lots of security to their sexuality too. The flip side is, women have been left to contend with a very self-aware male species that cares big time about his image and manners. The only problem is, when obsession with one looks interferes with one’s life then that’s not manly.

You met her accidentally on your maiden evening class while you searched for a vacant seat in that stuffy class. You found one next to this lady whom you gave a genial smile and which she responded cheekily. Your friendship was conceived almost immediately starting off as just ordinary desk mates. This was the case because the following day you made up late again and to your surprise you met a reserved seat just for you. From that very day, your heart taxied over the runaway of a platonic friendship, flying high to the clouds of happy hours never to land again. You could tell she was a simple woman from the onset. She didn’t wear any make up apart from a mild lip gloss that was applied to her already pink (read cute) lips. Her hands were not littered with fidgeting things. Her fingers had only a simple rosary ring. No necklaces or earrings. Her chest was closed up. No cleavage to be drooled at. Neither did she expose hectares of tempting, brown thighs to be ogled at. And she smelled great.

One random, lazy Sunday afternoon you got a call from her requesting you to take her to the market. (In this side of the country markets open on Sundays too). You were taking a siesta but quickly obliged to accompany her. This was a sign of greater things to come. At least you hoped. Wait a minute, which contemporary lady visits the market! I thought they shop in the malls even for veges and fruits. Not her. She religiously visits the market every Sunday to buy groceries for the week. She knows where to find the best tomatoes, yards away from her carrot vendor, a corner away from where she gets fresh fruits from Mzee Kinoti.

This is how it rolled;

So you hurriedly freshen up and meet her patiently waiting for you somewhere in town. You ask her if she’d take a cab to the place (market) since it’s quite a ka-distance which she vehemently declines. Little do you know she likes walking as much! Yes she can walk from Yaya Centre to town a place of kindu 5km without complaining. To you that was a big plus. So you guys walk doing long conversations and stopping now and then to take pics after your persuasions. You call it documenting life. On the flipside you badly need images of her in your phone gallery. She doesn’t mind photos. She is photogenic you know!

At the market she patiently shows you how to decipher a green-house tomato from the rest. She recommends you opt for the rest insisting green-house tomatoes have too much ‘chemicals’. “How to tell a greenhouse tomato is from their shiny appearance. And don’t pick the soft ones, they have a short shelf life.” She says. She holds your arm and drags you to a guy selling green bananas. (You literally listen to your heart race more). Which lady shops for green bananas, gosh! These are tasks done by our mothers and aunts. She throws Gikuyu names referring to different varieties of green bananas you’ve never heard of. You forgive yourself since Nyandarua County where you hail from is not known for bananas unlike Nyeri, Kirinyaga, Murang’a, Embu and such like highland Counties. As she mentions the names to the vendor guy, he responds as to whether that particular variety is available or not.

She turns to you;

Her: Do you cook green bananas?

You: No. I’m a bachelor. I don’t have the time for ‘elaborate’ cooking.

Her: Aha, (Gives you a funny look before letting out a sarcastic smile) what about in up country?

You: Not as often hehe.

Her: You are missing a lot. Green bananas are good for your source of fiber, vitamins and minerals,
and contains a starch that may help control blood sugar, manage weight and lower blood cholesterol levels.

You: Wow. You only 24 and know all these!! You’ll make a very good wife. Men adore women like you.

Her: You flattering me. Thank you though. (As she catches her breathe shyly).

You: (Your mind whispers words like – Can I marry you!!!…..God make her mine please. You know I need such a mama for my two forthcoming daughters)

Meanwhile her green bananas get packed and again she drags you to the mama selling onions. The mama throws a look at you two to suggest you look like a wonderful couple. Actually you act like one. She carefully shows you how to tell an ‘awesome’ onion from a not so good one. The latter has an elongated strip emerging from the tip. Ignore that type, it’s not the best. Look for one with a dry tip. You learn from her! She takes you to the carrot guy and boy! She knows how to bargain. All this time round, you thought your mum was the best in this league. No! As you proceed to look for nice pumpkins (Is she for real, pumpkins??) she explains why she had to bargain. The vendor guys take advantage of you once you appear looking posh and ‘middle class-like’. She learnt this over the years.

The pumpkin mum cuts her half the size which will be enough for the week. All this time your mind has convened an ’emergency cabinet meeting’ and resolved to seriously pursue this young woman. ‘The whole of you’ is convinced this is your Miss Right.

You are tempted to ask her; Did it hurt (The Coca-Cola Ad)
Her: Where?
You: Uki dunda from heaven!!
Her: Sorry!

Yaani how can you be this lucky to stumble to such a lass in 2015!

You walk back to town and escort her home as darkness creeps in. You also head straight to your digs and sit on your couch for 30 minutes without bothering to switch on the stereo or the TV to watch the news. Nothing seems to matter more than that afternoon’s experience. It was heavenly. You even toy with the idea that it might have been a dream.

One week after, you invite her for lunch in your house. This is bold. Yes, you cook for her. You get her by surprise since the two of you had strolled from church together when you asked her for lunch in your digs. It’s important to also note she is quite religious. I judge religious people by the time they wake up to pray. And for your information, she has an alarm that wakes her up at 5am to pray for 30 minutes. This turns out to be the conversation as you walk from church. You have lunch and then she insists on doing the dishes! That’s a wife material type, right?

You then make her watch Fast and Furious 7 since she hadn’t watched it (She is not so much of a movie person) and then request her to accompany you as you check out to do your monthly shopping. You recall her recommending a very distinct house freshener which lasts longer than your usual picks. She also makes you buy a designer deo that befits your character and which makes necks wag in your office the next day. The most memorable part comes by when you make way past the kitchen cleaning stuff. She gets like; “I didn’t spot any steel wool in your kitchen?” This is so true since the last time your sufurias were thoroughly cleaned using a steel wool was when you sister passed by your house 4 or 5 months ago. You pass by the utensils and again she advises you to buy Luminarc branded items as they boost of high quality next time you furnish your wall-unit. She introduces you to lentils (aka kamande) at the food stuff section emphasizing they are good for stabilizing blood sugar, lowering cholesterol and reduce the risk of heart diseases.

Several months down the line and after a cluster of interactions you realize she is never interested in your phone. She never touches your phone even when you dash to the bathroom or walk out to buy milk. Again this is a big plus. Phones kill relationships and make partners die of knife stabs. You also happen to taste her unrivalled cooking skills. She doesn’t buy chips, she cooks them effortlessly. Same case to puncakes and chapatis. She can do it in the morning as she prepares breakfast at one end. Multi-tasking is in her flow of blood. This reminds you of another thing, she will light a jiko in no minute as she pills potatoes and as she also cooks porridge from the gas cooker.

Her other talent is in home remedies. She is big in this. Always at her fingertips. From heartburns, nausea, sensitive teeth, small burns, baby fevers at 2:31am…..she walks with a ready prescription. And something else I forgot; she likes ironing clothes for her man. She will go through your wardrobe, cull clothes that suit your day theme and iron them for you. She is that lady who believes in waking up an hour before the husband, to prepare breakfast as she cleans the house. Another added advantage is that she is a sucker for body fitness. How about that?

You reliased she is extremely coping. You can easily leave her with your mum inside a smoky hut on a rainy afternoon as they cook mukimo (a Gikuyu traditional food that some idle simpletons throw shade at), go sleep for two hours and find them later, happily preparing tea in the same spot and keeping warm from the glowing hearth of firewood.

One year after you meet, she has steadily remained loyal to those principles. The question is; isn’t she a wife material? Can wedding bells ring now!!!

Hardly 24 hours after I published my last week’s article dubbed Of Tummies And The Struggle which I had disclosed of my ailing right foot, I found myself seated in waiting area of this hospital with white, leather sofas, staring at the humongous TV, preoccupied with lost thoughts. So much was going through my mind at this time as I hate visiting hospitals. Kageshi can attest to this. I only visit hospitals as the last resort when all the home remedies fail to work. The room was dead silent apart from the TV on low volume. My face was in pensive mood, sympathising with my leg and regretting why I ever did the exercises in the first place. Minutes before I checked in, I had a lengthy conversation with my mum who assured me everything will be okay. I would tell were it not for the distance, she badly desired to accompany me as I visited my doc. This happens so many times. My mum has never accepted I’m a grown up who has developed thick skin along the way in my close to three decades of breathing life. Talk of African Mums.

I had just walked to the receptionist who by the way was a guy. Very unusual. He pulled an artificial smile and asked my name and other personal details. Immediately my Boy-Child activism checked in considering receptionists are in most cases petite ladies. I was glad some employers are now employing people based on their capability and not gender. 10 minutes after, a brown young lady with pronounced chick bones and big round eyes and a WEAVE emerged from the Consultation Room donning the symbolic white coat. She looked 28. Don’t ask how I guessed her age. My heart skipped. I didn’t recall the last time I was treated by a female doc. Actually it had not happened before!

Back to my ailing leg. Kageshi came to mind. I smiled shyly when I rolled back thoughts about how for like 5 days before I gave in to visit the doc, she unrelentingly massaged my feet with a warm (read hot) towel to ease the pain daily. At times I would let out a deep sigh when she pressed my right foot so hard as a way of ‘curing the pain’ with the hot towel. She was like; “This is not the time to be gentle, I need to see you walking again, Love?” I felt like a 7 year old boy being nursed his feet by the mum. And by the way, the whole experience turned out to be very romantic.

So, I was called in to the Consultation Room. Dr.Stacey warmly referred me with my first name, Andrew. I was quite impressed. I get very excited when people call me by first name looking straight to my eyes. Does it happen to you too? I narrated to her my troubled story while she made notes with her sleek pen. She directed me to a high table across the wall where I had to remove my shoes. She assessed my foot, asking a million and one questions. She then asked about my profession! I told her I’m an Accountant which I promptly regretted saying so. I wish I told her I was a Writer who has a passion for telling serious stories with a humour-like touch. And she’d be like; “A Writer? Wow! That’s nice. So it pays your bills and supports your family?” And I’d be like; “Not exactly. I blend it with ‘small’ hustles here and there. I do preambles for websites and other stuff.” Her face would reserve any more questions hehe. She twirled my foot with her tender hands which had well trimmed finger nails and at some point I noticed her huge watch which commanded attention. (From men circles; ladies who don huge watches are taken more seriously because of their seeming boldness).

I wished I asked the million dollar question Biko poses to the swimming pool guys from Malindi to Kigali or the chap who pushes him in a wheel chair when he gets diagnosed with a blood clot. About their most interesting clients. I’m not sure how Dr.Stacey could have responded to such a question. Probably I could have got her off guard or maybe she would have complained of the patient becoming very intrusive. While she attended me, I ransacked her ‘office’ with my eyes from her table which had several medical journals stashed nicely, a medical dictionary, two novels next to her snazzy phone and a lip balm. There was a newspaper too. (And that’s how you judge a lady’s age). Her huge handbag was placed at the corner of the table and car keys resting beside the bag. Anyway, after the assessment of my leg she let out the bombshell. That my leg would be immobilised for two weeks. A shocked me was like, “really?” And she pitched an affirmative YES. She went ahead to wipe my feet, applied a creamy stuff and massaged my foot for 3 minutes. She then firmly tied a bandage on my ailing leg and let me off the hook wishing me quick recovery and requesting I go for follow up checkup in a week’s time. (Which is tomorrow).

What Dr.Stacey didn’t warn me about was that, the first two nights would be the longest nights I ever endured. Dealing with a heavy and uncomfortable leg was a nightmare in itself. I wasn’t able to even stretch my right foot. (Thank God for sound health). I thought of so many things during these nights. I came to a point of appreciating more, breastfeeding mothers. Waking a dozen times in the night to lull a stubborn baby and still manage to wake up early to prepare for jobo. Wow! Respect to this kind of women! Their sleep is always interrupted. That was me and my leg waking at 2:01 am to soothe it to ‘sleep’. The situation was so bad on the first day that I didn’t realise it was a Friday, a night to watch a programme I fondly like, The Trend. I slept before 9.

Dealing with kids in the neighborhood who’ve been telling me Pole (sorry) with sympathetic faces has become a norm. Not to mention tussling with a thousand questions from all the souls I meet. It has been worse when they expect me to take time in narrating a detailed account of what happened. This is so draining. Gai! When I dashed for my weekly shave, Shemas my barber laughed for a whole 10 minutes after I explained what transpired. That I was jogging in my digs and twisted my leg in the process. He couldn’t understand how one can jog inside a house. My boss was also visibly shocked. When I walked to the office last Monday morning in open-shoes with a bandage tethered in one of my legs, he looked lost until I explained. He was like; “Andrew you are too young to start messing with your legs.” My brief response was; “It happens” punctuated with a fake smile.

I salute the two incredible women; Kageshi and Dr.Stacey who came in handy when I needed a lot of reassurance. One thing I have learnt is that it’s never the same when you can’t walk normally. You get tired easily and naturally can’t do some tasks the same way again. It’s also not easier when one leg is rendered inactive. Appreciate and give thanks for good health and while at it take extra caution while exercising. It might save you a fortune.

Few weeks ago I posted a photo on social media which apparently exposed my bulging tummy. How I hate tummies. Interestingly, my sweet Niece Whatsapped ‘hurling words’ at me demanding to know why an uncle should be gaining weight when everybody else is burning hours in the gym cutting weight! Well well well! That statement was hard to swallow. I did hear it sink deep in my stomach and up in my mind where it unleashed terror and threatened to ‘Sossion me’. I have never been more haunted by a simple statement. Gaining weight is no longer fashionable and worse still, some Machiavellian geeks seated somewhere will assume you are a lazy being. How harsh can it be! Well for the record, my tummy has nothing to do with me imbibing alcohol as one childhood friend alluded. This again left a bitter taste in my life. It’s not fair to always imagine all guys who grow tummies are alcoholics and take Nyama choma more often than they sip tea.

And by the way, I am at a cross road. In catch 22. Why? Well, Kageshi (My publicly-known girlfriend) has been ‘over-feeding’ me so that, come 2016 when I will be visiting her parents’ home to pay dowry, I’ll look ‘presentable’. Hahaha. Yes in some parts of this country, you cannot afford to present a skinny fellow to your damn uncles. They will chase you away the Magarer-Langat way. You recall this lad, formerly of ODM. Come to think of yourself up in the air, with an idle crowd behind, waving tree branches and jeering at you all for not appearing ‘moneyed’ so to speak. (Why do people in up country have to harm trees when they hold demos; Are placards that expensive or rather not effective in these parts of the country. These are the same humans who’ll show up during Wangari Maathai’s Anniversary while in the background persist to maim her legacy.) Speaking of up country, mums residing in this areas do not mind when their sons grow ‘big’.

So where does this leave me? I weighed all the options and concluded I should restructure my weight instead. In fact as we speak, I have embarked on doing exercises in my digs now that I can’t afford going to the gym. The last time I was there, 2 years ago, I used to spend more money for the gym service than I’d spend on my food budget. This didn’t make sense to me. I obliged to give up. I’m also an accountant you know. Doing exercises in the house is not simple either, though I dropped two kilograms last week but not before I got an injury on my feet. This was as a result of jogging 2 kilometers in the house. (Don’t get twisted, yani jogging for 20 minutes nonstop). If walls in my house would speak, they’d confirm the depth of my sighs and how sweaty I can be. Enough of Andrew!

Speaking of my niece, she’s hardly 53 kilograms (2kg for her blonde weave) and still insists on rigorously working out in the house. I know she will kill me for writing this, sorry hun! At times she skips meals to maintain her overrated flat tummy. How now? To me this is overzealousness. Many ladies are caught up in this madness of flat-tummies too. I know men admire such lasses, but when it takes skipping meals for a tummy! Hell no. You might have the tiniest waistline but still have a pathetic lifestyle. Some are even taking pills to shed weight. That’s where the problem is. I’m not trying to throw shade at the whole idea of maintaining a healthy lifestyle. It’s very noble. It significantly lowers your stress levels, combats diseases, boosts your energy levels and improves your longevity….bla bla bla. However, bragging of firm tummies on IG or pronounced muscles is neither here nor there.

We have hyped flat tummies at the very expense of healthy lifestyles. According to Women’s Health, an online women magazine, globally, sixty two percent of women say the body part they’re self-conscious about is their belly. Nowadays, there has been a misconception that cutting your carbohydrates is tantamount to cutting weight. This is a generational lie. It’s wrong. Health pundits insist, cutting simple carbs may help reduce your weight but that does not necessarily suggest pushing complex carbs off your plate. Your body still needs vegetables, legumes and whole grains. Worse still, we are a society that has been misadvised against taking eggs. It’s true, eggs have a fair amount of cholesterol but they are good sources of protein, several B vitamins, choline, vitamin D, and vitamin E too. Extra caution is only limited to people with heart diseases or diabetes.

You know of these people who check on their ‘portions’ while they also count on the number of calories they’ve consumed in a day. Is this not a first world problem? We have totally been enslaved by all this crude gimmicks in this internet era. I have heard tales of corporate women whom ideally are quite learned, donning tummy belts. I call this, contemporary slavery? I hate to imagine a time when my wife will be jumping to get her tummy belt first thing after dashing out of the shower. This can be very defeating. It will remind me of war-time movies where you have to don certain paraphernalia to identify yourself. Woman, you are not in war, not unless with yourself. Besides, they follow this sheet that has a schedule of what one should consume in say three weeks and guarantee to lose a whole 30 kilograms. I’m also told of something called tummy tuck only affordable to the rich. This entails of plastic surgery in the abdomen in which fat and skin are removed and muscles tightened. This is to yield an illusion of a flat tummy. The lengths this generation travels to fit in or stand out!

New fads are being unleashed every single day promising ‘faster results’. But all they do is show our degree of laziness and general naivety. A healthy lifestyle will only be met through taking larger portions of natural foods, fruits, taking lots of water and more importantly regularly working out. This does not necessarily mean going to the gym. This ‘house’ is so overrated. In fact a good number visit the gym just to brag about it. Simple exercises in your house coupled with more rounds of walking round the estate with your loved one(s) and maybe riding a bike preferably with your spouse can be very helpful. This is much wiser than gulping what we are fed via our TV screens. Drop the overzealousness. Accept not to be deluded. Don’t move with the wind, your kids might pay your price.

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